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Papaya, guava, pomolo, dragon fruit, pho, bun, sugarcane. All foods I had never eaten until I lived in Vietnam. After the best part of three months, my taste buds are happy. Vietnamese food is a direct reflection of the Vietnamese people. It is what it is. It makes no apologies. If you don't like it, you don't like it. But it's vibrant and brilliant, and it's difficult to have an aversion to any of the food, and in turn, to the people.
Many travellers report that the people of Vietnam are brash and rude. I don't agree. Yes, they are direct, and they definitely will shout until you've understood exactly what's on offer, but they are not being ill mannered. For most of the natives that foreigners encounter, tourism is the sole source of income. So selling the conical hat or the pineapple they are shoving in your face, or providing the motorbike ride down the road, are essential to making a living. Travellers can't expect to disrupt a country with their own strange ways without seeing some kind of change.
After teaching for almost three months in Hanoi, the capital of Vietnam, my initial shock at the madness
of the place has melted into a keen fondness for it. But there was a harsh adjustment period, especially having come from Seoul, Korea, the epitome of organisation, reservation and conservative behaviour. The streets of Hanoi are teeming with people, animals and vehicles. Noises, smells, sights change with practically every step you take.
Most footpaths are embellished with makeshift street restaurants that consist of a woman nursing a pot of noodles or hacking at a cooked chicken with a huge knife. Then there's the raw food. You'll never be far from a mango or pineapple in Hanoi. Trip down a small side street and find tiny shops bursting with boxes of fruit. Go a little further for chunks of raw meat sitting on wooden tables waiting for some kind customer to take them away from the blazing heat and moped fumes.
Hit the stalls and it's bowls of steaming pho noodles swimming in hearty broth with pieces of chicken or beef dodging chopped spring onions, coriander, chillis and garlic. On the tiny tables sit bowls of limes, spicy red sauces and pickled radishes. Bun bo nam bo is a huge bowl stuffed to the brim with lettuce, noodles,
bean sprouts, beef, pickled vegetables, peanuts, herbs, and the best part, the sauce. It's the sauces that make the food in Vietnam. They're spicy, salty, sweet, and all at the same time.
As the sunshine made it clear that it was not going anywhere, freezing juices became part of the daily routine. Vietnamese sit on foot-high stools along the streets, drinking a cold yellow juice and spitting the shells of seeds at their feet. Wandering inside one of these juice-making establishments, a new addiction is born. Sugarcane juice. Huge bamboo-like sticks are pushed through a machine, and out comes the sweetest, most refreshing drink you could want on a hot Hanoian day. It's sold chilled in glasses, or if you're on the go, you can request a plastic bag filled with ice and juice, tied at the top with an elastic band and donning a straw for ease.
After too much food, a Hanoian beer won't set break the bank. After too many beers, Hanoian nightlife is a force to be reckoned with. There are a couple of bars in the Old Quarter, which is where the backpackers roam. Around midnight, the music will stop suddenly, and the
olive green hat of the policeman will be seen as he stands defiantly at the doorway, demanding an end to this nonsense. Thirty seconds later, he'll leave, and the music is cranked up again. The policing system is notoriously corrupt in Vietnam, and a local bar owner told of how the police have repeatedly confiscated all of his furniture as a punishment for late opening hours, before selling it back to him without a problem.
For the more adventurous reveller, a short walk to a bridge over a main road will lead to Hanoi's newest 'bar'. Stroll into a small, dark, low-ceilinged room to buy a drink before heading back out onto the street to stand with everyone else under the bridge while Rihanna plays from invisible speakers. Another, more exciting alternative is to head down a few alleyways to a dingy, dirty, claustrophobic and blaringly noisy nightclub. Warm drinks galore. The mystery female practice of bathrooming in pairs is for once necessary here, as the steel toilet door needs to be removed from its hinges and rolled down the corridor in order for a damsel to crawl into the cave which is the toilet before her accomplice rolls
the door back into place.
Working in Hanoi is an experience. The children are beautiful, and hugely enthusiastic. The schools are hot. Private schools are spacious. Public schools are cramped, with over fifty children in a classroom. They are massive yellow buildings, with numerous floors, looking out over a large yard. Also looking out over the playground is good old Uncle Ho. Massive portraits of Ho Chi Minh, the much-revered bringer of communism, are everywhere. There's one in every classroom, along with his teachings.
Hanoi is literally a feast for every sense. A swarming city full of life during daylight hours, you could spend an age getting lost in its streets.
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